Bleeding Palms
by Cambion Delacroix
Summary: Sometimes being alone is better than feeling alone in a crowded room where everyone's together. Prussia/Poland.


He dug his nails into his palms.

It was always like this; Feliks and Gilbert would walk into the meeting (hand-in-hand, which the Prussian enjoyed even if those words would never exit his pale lips), and his smirk would be curled just so cocky and just so proud, as it damn should be. Because Gilbert was the greatest and he deserved to walk into that bland old meeting room with his head held high.

And Feliks would pull his hand away, Gilbert blinking and curling his upper lip in disgust. (He hated the way the cool air felt against his hand when he pulled away, he hated it hated it hated it; so he'd curl his hands into fists to crush the cold and to teach it a lesson.) There he'd stand, idly for but a moment before resuming his smirk; because Gilbert was the best and he deserved to smile even in such a pathetic place (where he didn't even belong).

Then Gilbert would laugh, stomping his favorite old combat boots against the tiled floors until he collided with his friends (as he recently started calling them; before then he'd never been weak enough for those supposed 'friends') and he'd laugh coarsely as he kicked them and watched them squirm. Sometimes they'd laugh too, and they'd all have a ball for a sweet, dragging five minutes. Then Francis would spot a fidgeting Englishman, Antonio would chase the Sicilian who was attempting a narrow escape, and even West would find himself busy keeping an Italian occupied and distracted from his paperwork. The Prussian would be left without a murmur of noise within the close area around him, and he'd laugh and tap his foot; because Gilbert was bad-ass and he could keep up anything for himself.

Then he'd take a seat (the blank seat which held no nametag, and one he often pried a young British boy from; he tended to correct him that since he used to be a nation, he had more of a right than one who never had). Then he'd find that the armrests would be cold and metal (He'd long since grown to hate the cold, and metal just felt rusty anymore nor matter what), and he'd fidget his arms until they were a comfortable lukewarm. About this time he'd glance around, distractions spent and his smirk twitching out of its usual niche fast. Nothing was bothering him, he was just becoming bored. And Gilbert need not become bored, for he was strong and amazing and deserved some fucking entertainment.

About then his eyes would fixate upon a bobbing blond head, forced high-pitched tones ringing from shiny lips as he gossiped and chirped. Feliks would be positioned up on the table, legs crossed under that impossibly short skirt as he babbled and leaned so incredibly close to that brunette he was so fond of. But Gilbert didn't care because he was superior and in just a few hours those soft legs would be spread beneath him just as Gilbert deserved to witness.

Then came the time when red marks would show up in Gilbert's skin, nails digging down as he trembled and forced his smirk to remain. He could feel the eyes zeroing in on the Polish man, and he could practically taste the close proximity between Feliks and Toris as he leaned closer and his fine hair would brush Toris' forehead and Gilbert wouldn't care because he…

Then Feliks would laugh again and grab Toris' hand and Gilbert's hand would start to bleed. Normally, he'd laugh, normally, he'd scoot his chair back just enough to prop his legs on the desk at an obnoxiously loud volume and cause enough of a scene for someone to look up. Not the one he wanted, but just someone to give him a fucking ounce of attention, someone for him to be on his or her mind for just a split, goddamn second.

But today, the blood kept bleeding and he got up, raised from the chair and stepping from the table and he left. He left where he didn't belong and he left the prying eyes, and he left the person he cared for being so close to someone so worthless. Because Gilbert was clearly irresistible, and didn't at all deserve to suffer through things that any normal person could get through without the slightest effort.

Maybe if he left, it'd go away.

Sometimes being alone is better than feeling alone in a crowded room where everyone's together. Gilbert reminded himself.


End file.
